Trees, cemeteries, and maybe some closure
by speechless97
Summary: Shivering slightly and pulling her jacket closer, she turned into her row, realizing the irony of what she was about to do. How many people can say that they had seen their own tombstone?  It sounded like a cruel joke. Post 7.01


**[This was a prompt that I got off one of those prompt-generator things, and it gave me the first sentence, so inspiration just hit. This is just a one-shot of some of Emily's thoughts as she goes and visits her grave.**

**Set shortly after 7.01, enjoy!]**

"_Existence really is an imperfect tense that never becomes a present." _-Friedrich Nietzsche

A gnarly tree stood guard at the entrance of the cemetery.

It was bent and rotting, almost like someone who'd lived too many years, seen too many horrors. The tree just stood there, almost like a warning of what lay inside.

But Emily Prentiss knew that better than anyone.

They'd all told her not to go. It would be 'taken care of' by tomorrow, they all said, shooting sympathetic glances her way.

But she had to. Maybe to make it up to the team, somehow.

They'd all stood by her grave god-knows how many times, shed too many tears over it.

It just didn't seem right that she wouldn't have to see it at all.

So she took a deep breath, putting one foot hesitantly in front of the other as she made her way through the gate and into the sea of tombstones.

There were so many. Some had fresh flowers and looked well-cared for, others looked like they hadn't been touched in years.

Emily suddenly wondered what her grave would be like. If people would come to visit, or if it would be left here, drowning in weeds and cobwebs because no one cared enough to clear them away.

Shivering slightly and pulling her jacket closer, she turned into her row, realizing the irony of what she was about to do.

How many people can say that they had seen their own tombstone?

It sounded like a cruel cosmic joke.

A rustle of the leaves caused Emily to look up, slightly alarmed.

Walking into the gate of the cemetery was a woman, younger than Emily herself, carrying a bouquet of blue lilies.

Emily wondered who she was here for. Who she was grieving for. She saw the woman stop at a small tombstone with a stone angel perched on top of it – 'Baby Girl Beth', it read.

She watched as the mother placed the flowers down, blowing a kiss to her daughter's tombstone, a solitary tear rolling down her cheek.

Suddenly, the moment felt too personal, Emily felt like she was intruding, so she turned away, finally taking the final steps to her destination.

She'd prepared herself for this – for what it would look like, but she couldn't help the hitch in her breath as she saw her own name engraved into the stone.

'Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity', it said under it.

It was... nice. Nice as graves get. But somehow, it seemed hollow. Impersonal.

Like someone had taken forty years of her life and summed them up into those three little words. It just didn't seem fair.

There were flowers perched on top of the still somewhat freshly dug grave. A single white rose, a small bouquet of bright pink daisies and two yellow roses, bound together by a piece of red string.

She could just imagine Rossi kneeling here, talking to her quietly in Italian, confiding in her, placing the white rose down with a sigh.

She could practically see Garcia, tears rolling down her face, standing by the grave, talking about everything, placing the colorful daisies onto the dirt with a sob.

And Morgan – touching the tombstone with a hurt look on his face, placing the yellow flowers tentatively on his partner's resting place, talking to the slab of stone with Emily's name on it.

How many days had they spent here, talking to someone who would never be able to hear them? Someone who wasn't even dead in the first place?

They had been grieving, she knew that, but none of them had gotten to acceptance yet. Except for maybe Rossi, but he'd had an 'inkling' the whole time.

Morgan, she knew, had been firmly fixated in anger.

Garcia, depression.

Reid, it seemed, was still in denial.

But they would've all come to grips with her death sooner or later. They would've put her in the back of their minds and moved on – gotten someone to replace her and after a while, she was sure, they would even be able to talk about her. To laugh at the memories they'd all shared.

Emily, however, wasn't really dead. She was back, which just made things more complicated.

Morgan was angrier.

Garcia was sadder, somehow.

Reid was not even acknowledging her existence.

At least if she had died, they might've moved on. Now, she wasn't sure if they ever would.

The cold autumn wind blew her hair into her face as she stood there, probably looking completely normal – looking like just another grieving relative or friend.

She shivered again, bringing a hand up to put her hair behind her ear, feeling warm wetness on her cheeks.

She hadn't even realized she was crying.

Taking a deep breath in, Emily bent down and touched the words intricately engraved into the stone.

The next breath she took was more like a sob, which surprised even her.

The gentle vibration of her phone in her pocket pulled her out of her reverie and she pulled it out, still in a daze.

'_Stop torturing yourself princess.'_

Emily snapped her head up and looked around, but Derek Morgan's muscular form was nowhere to be found.

He didn't need to be here, he knew. He knew her well enough to know where she would be, what she would be doing. And he cared, even after all the hurt she'd caused him.

Emily turned around, taking one last look over her shoulder, looking at her own grave one last time.

It would be gone by tomorrow. She would never see it again.

And with that thought, she walked slowly away, the leaves crunching loudly under her feet, making her footsteps echo in the otherwise empty cemetery.

She walked back under the tree, giving it one last look before she retreated into the warmth of her car and started the engine, wondering how her life had become such a mess.

But nothing could be perfect, she concluded.

Like that tree, everything had to have some cracks, some imperfections.

It just so happened that her life had become a maze of cracks, a heap of mistakes.

But she was alive. Alive, and with her family. And all she could do was hope that they would get through this; that she could start putting her life back together, piece by miserable piece.

**[Tell me how I did? Review please :)]**


End file.
